Nothing to Lose

Chapter Four

I never should have left Vegas. I don't say that because something traumatic happened once I moved to California, I say that because what happens in Vegas, is supposed to stay in Vegas. However, much like gambling debt and STDs, I can follow you home. I oftentimes wonder how different my life would be if I'd never left my tourist-infested birthplace. Chances are, I'd be an entirely different person with different interests and characteristics. But knowing my luck, I'd probably be exactly the same. Only tanner. And more dehydrated. Possibly addicted to gambling.

Sometimes, though, I wonder if I'd still be sick if I had never moved. Maybe the lack of oxygen on the plane over the Sierras resulted in killing a few important brain cells in the anterior cingulate cortex (the part of your brain commonly linked to eating disorders- which means mine is fucked up). Ignoring this possible airline contributor, it seems I was predisposed to living a life plagued with the mental illness with the single highest mortality rate (Why couldn't I have developed that disorder where you spontaneously speak in various accents from countries you've never visited?). Lucky me happens to be a grade A example of a textbook anorexic- perfectionistic, female, low self-esteem, a deep-seeded need to please others, etc.

"I don't understand why she's doing this." My mother tearfully said to the on-staff weekend therapist my first full day there. "She's such a smart girl."

"Ha." The women laughed as she leaned back in her chair that she'd pulled up next to my bed. "Most girls here are. Straight A, honor roll. It's the high expectations that get them."

I hadn't met any of the other girls in the ward yet, being on bedrest and having the bed next to me suspiciously empty. I'd seen one boy being wheeled out past my door, followed by a parade of get well balloons and family members as he was escorted to freedom. He threw up a peace sign and smiled reasurringly at me, but I could only stare back blankly. He was the only boy the ward had seen in the past year, I'd later learn, and the only one that I would see during my stay.

Other than my brief encounter with the nameless boy, I'd seen other patients, but hadn't yet spoken to them. Being on bedrest, I wasn't allowed to eat meals with the others until I got wheelchair clearance, so while I ate my mountainous pile of peanut butter toast, granola, and soy yogurt in bed, the rest of the girls filed past my room in their wheelchairs and stared at me as they did so. While we were allowed our own clothes in the ward, all of us stuck with the "pajama pants and t shirt with a messy bun" look, since at this point in our lives, we seemed to seperately and unianimously decide that rock bottom didn't have a formal dress code. All the girls, although they had varying ethnicities and ages, looked very similar. Small, frail. Sunken in like shriveled old women. My room was across the hall from the dining room with only the nurse's reception desk seperating us, so they all stared at me through the small window and through my open door as they ate. One waved. I didn't.

"Why are they staring at me?" I asked my mother as she fluttered around the room, wiping things down with industrial-strength bleach wipes that recquired you to wear gloves, lest they burn through your skin.

"Maybe they want to be your friend."

"Sure. I'm sure they're super fun." I replied dryly.

"You don't even know them yet. Here, Colleen gave me this for you." She handed me a pink piece of paper. On it was the ward's schedule.

Breakfast- 8:00-9:00

Group Activity

Lunch- 12:45-1:45

Group Activity

Snack- 2:30-3:00

Free Time